


the burden in your hands

by YsaX64



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Burns, F/M, Gloves, Graphic Description, Scars, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24281128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YsaX64/pseuds/YsaX64
Summary: The rumors talked about ashen hands, leathery skin and razor-sharp talons.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45
Collections: Edelbert Week 2020





	the burden in your hands

**Author's Note:**

> For Edelbert Week, day two, White Gloves/Teatime  
> Some nasty descriptions up ahead, but nothing too bad.

The rumors talked about ashen hands, leathery skin and razor-sharp talons.

Edelgard paid no heed to them, most of the time. After spending a year on Garreg Mach, one should learn which whispers they should listen carefully and which ones deserved no attention. Consciously, she knew that such talk of gruesome palms was futile and most likely untrue. It wasn’t like she observed closely when the servants whispered about how her servant had a rat’s tail hidden under his cloak, despite how much the thought disturbed her personally.

Still, it was becoming progressively harder and harder to ignore the stories about his hands. 

Since the end of the war, Hubert von Vestra became the man of the hour. His position as Minister of the Imperial Household, while still of the utmost importance during the war, was mostly eclipsed by his situation as a general, even after Byleth’s miraculous reappearance and subsequent takeover as the Black Eagles Strike Force de facto strategist. Once the war ended however, all of Fódlan unified under her rule, her right-hand shifted like a chameleon, back to assuming most of the workload regarding the Imperial Palace and, by extension, he was more often tucked inside his office than anywhere else. With such close relationship to the Emperor, alongside his furtiveness and his callous demeanor, it was very much obvious that rumors were to bound to intensify.

That much, Edelgard found understandable. He was always like that. Slept little, worked much. As much as it was a questionable habit, it wasn’t suspicious. That was, until the rumors started running wild. About how he didn’t take off his gloves even when eating, his refusal to even let a healer take care of his hands after a minor accident. It was where she drew the line.

After all, she could see it as well. Whenever she would hand papers and documents to him, Hubert withdrew as quickly as he could, bolting away like a wild fox, taking what he needed before tucking his tail between his legs and turning around. In the rare occasions when he decided to make her company during dinner or lunch, the gloves stayed on. White, pristine white gloves, hiding something that she couldn’t see.

Even still, her curiosity didn’t beat the respect for his privacy. Therefore, despite the long side glances she spared him, hoping to catch a glimpse of pale bony hands, Edelgard didn’t truly step up in order to ask him about it or to demand anything from him.

Nevertheless, when the opportunity presented itself, she took it without remorse. 

He let out a low grunt, the smell of cinnamon filled the air, his hand retreating with a swift movement. The teacup hit the table with a low thud, spilling its contents all over. Edelgard raised an eyebrow. It was terribly unusual for her to catch Hubert making the smallest of mistakes, let alone dropping a teacup. Still, his reaction was surprisingly mild considering he had just dropped scalding tea all over himself. His hand was now clutched near his chest, more as if it was just a mild nuisance, the white glove soaked, granting it a dirty brownish color. And, just like that, an idea lit up inside her head. 

“Is everything all right?” Her voice was careful as she shifted on her seat.

The warm beams of sunlight were a sharp contrast to his ghastly skin, especially with the orange tinge of the twilight. A vague frown line was now permanently settled between his eyebrows, the dark circles even more apparent once they became Emperor and Minister more than ever.

“My apologies for my ineptitude. It will not happen again, my lady.” 

His eyes were cast to the table, the ruined tea marring the cloth, their shared break all but done. By the time a servant managed to clean everything up and tidy all over from scratch, heir time would be up and they would have to get back to their duties once more. Even still, Edelgard found herself calm, not even a tinge of annoyance in her mind. No, no, all of her focus was on the hand he clutched near his chest, the white glove tainted.

“There is no problem,” she dismisses his groveling with a hand wave, but it’s clear that his nervousness wouldn’t be so easily quelled. Instead of taking it gracefully, Hubert shook his head, getting up in one swift movement. 

“I will call for the servants.” He shook his head again, his eyes averted as if he had just committed some unforgivable offense. “If you will excuse me, Your Majesty.” 

Hubert barely managed to turn on his heels before her voice stopped him.

“Wait.” She didn’t even need to raise her voice. He promptly turned back, the look in his eyes asking her the obvious, unspoken question. Instead of instantly answering it, she rested her cheek on her hand, ignoring the mess of a table before her. “May I see your hand, Hubert?”

The bemused look in his eyes spoke volumes about the apparent absurdity of her question. Still, they were alone, nestled in the outers chamber of her quarters, so no one would see the unusual familiarity between Emperor and Minister. Of course, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by, Hubert didn’t share the same opinion.

“My lady,” he mumbled, the low tone betraying his strange stance on the matter. Years of companionship, however, told her that this was Hubert’s way of asking “Are you sure?” and Edelgard wasn’t about to pull back. Her eyes darted back to the window, observing the landscape and the ups and downs of Enbarr, feigning disinterest.

“What is it? I suppose there is no problem, is it?” She heard his low huff, demonstrating how completely unconvinced he was. Well then. Her eyes darted back to his, now squinted with suspicion that even his many years of deception and subterfuge couldn’t hide. “I merely want to see your hands.” 

It shouldn’t be that much of a problem. It truly shouldn’t have been. Still, the way he bite his lower lip and let out a puff of air through his nose could make anyone think she was asking for him to carry the world. Nevertheless, his obedience ultimately won over his reticence. Without more thought, he extended his hand to her, his eyes averted to the ground. In the patch of skin between the sleeve of his coat and the soaked glove, upon closer inspection, it was possible to see the lines of blue veins. Not the light tinge that most would bear, not the simples lines of pronounced blood vessels, but a darker shade of blue, almost a corrupted purple. Her fingers were lingering near his wrist, hesitating briefly before he cleared his throat, gaining her attention.

“I should apologize in advance.”

She doesn’t need to ask why. The rumors snapped back to her mind and she felt the sudden need to straighten her posture, to face the inevitable with dignity. The button at the base of the soaked glove was easily undone, swift work of fingers. It slipped out of his hand easily, revealing the hand that were the reason of so many rumors. She took his hands in both of hers, knowing what she would see.

The sight before her is enough to make her hitch her breath. Edelgard, inevitably, had seen carnage. Limbs hacked off. Screams of cruel, endless torture. Bodies so twisted they could barely be recognized as humans. She had seen charred bodies, burnt to a crisp. Still, there was something particularly jarring about seeing such blackened, dry skin still attached to a perfectly functioning body. The skin had been reduced to a leathery mess, wrinkled and flaking off, revealing patches of pinkish flesh underneath. The veins protruding in an almost sickly shade of purple, the skin rough to touch, all of it pointed that, for once, the rumors were right. The only point of contention would be his nails, which were not only blunt, but surprisingly well-kept. 

The consequence of using foul magic. 

Hubert shifted on his weight. Edelgard listened to his heavy exhale before she politely averted her eyes back to his face. There was a certain sheepishness in his expression, a rare thing to see in such a dark, predator-like man. 

“Your hand is trembling. Have you been getting enough sleep?” 

His green eyes blinked rapidly, still, the look of surprise lasted little, the man all too used to hiding.

“You shouldn’t worry about such trifles, my lady.”

“Trifles,” she emphasized the word, clutching the scarred hand between hers. “Everything considered, Hubert, I don’t think you are in position to deem it a trifle.”

“I must respectfully disagree, my lady,” he gritted through his teeth. “I do what I do of my own volition. We both know that all too well.”

Too well. Her jaw tensed, knowing clearly what conversation he was talking about. A beat passed. Hubert merely blinked back at her, his hand relaxed in her grip, not pulling back. But not relenting either. With a grunt, Edelgard spoke up, knowing that Hubert could sit through her stubbornness no matter what.

“Hmph. Sit here then.” When she gestured with her chin towards a nearby chair, Hubert merely tilted his head to the side. With a grunt, Edelgard found herself forced to clarify. “There is no way the servants can salvage our teatime, then spare me a moment, will you?”

This time, he doesn’t complain or resist, pulling the chair closer with his foot before sitting down, his back straight like a lance, jade eyes tracking her every movement. There was no point in paying heed to Hubert’s jumpiness, however. Leaving him there, she entered deep into her chambers, looking for a small vial of oil. Tucked in a drawer, there it was. A colorless, odorless oil from beyond Fódlan, used for many purposes, including the treatment of skin issues. When she came back, Hubert’s expression seemed to have softened, from a tense wariness to an amused curiosity.

“Morfis oil,” he muttered and she nodded in confirmation, taking her seat back. “I can assure you, my lady, it is not as bad as it looks. You don’t have to.”

“Humor me.”

She took off each of her own gloves, setting it aside. Spares him one last glance, if only to confirm that he wouldn't pull back instantly. When he doesn’t, merely staring back at her with an unreadable expression, Edelgard took it as enough of a permission. Opened the vial, slathered her hand with a fair amount of it. Very well then.

She started by gently smoothing it over his hand, spreading it out. At first , he flinched, tensed, but didn’t pull back, so Edelgard continued, long strokes, across his palm and along his fingers. The charred skin resisted, still rough despite the generous coat of oil. Regardless, he sighed, his fingers flexing in a strange brand of propriety.

“My lady.” 

The incomplete phrase loomed in the air, not reproaching, but carrying a faint hint of sheepishness. The intimacy of it all suddenly hit her. The Emperor, tending to the wounds of her loyal Minister. Scandalous. Still, it wasn’t that simple. It was the way his hand slowly relaxed under her fingers as she dug her thumbs on the heel. He exhaled, half-restrained, as if he wanted to let out a soft noise but caught it before it escaped.

Edelgard bit her bottom lip. The muscles of his hand were stiff, yet she couldn’t tell if it was purely because of tension. When she moved up to his wrists, sinew and veins all more prominent, her eyes were focused entirely on the work before her, massaging in firm, circular motions. At some point, the vague thought of looking up to get a peek of his expression, but ultimately decided against. it. It was because she wouldn’t want to vex him. Of course.

Still, her cheeks were far too warm, even looking at his ruined hand. Her fingers moved along to his thumb when she finally build up the courage to speak up first.

“Tell me,” she drawled, dragging out every syllable as she stroked firmly the finger up until the knuckle. “Is the pressure right?” 

That was not what she planned to ask, but it was all she could articulate as she moved along to his forefinger, careful with the tears of reddish flesh. Edelgard could only assume they were sensitive, but Hubert didn’t flinch when she barely brushed the pad of her finger on accident, which put in question such assumption. 

“Yes,” he wheezed out after a few moments. 

She stroked firmly from the tip to the knuckle and, this time, the slight tremble of his hand is enough for her to gather her courage, cursing her own hesitation. She wouldn’t hesitate like that on a battlefield, but apparently her eloquence failed her when alone with the man she cared about the most! The complete thought felt heavy on her chest, her heart constricting as to mumble out the dreaded question.

“When?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

She bit her lip, wondering how words would come so easily during a speech, but not right there. Moved along to the middle finger, gulping hard as the blackened skin resisted her movements, leathery and dry. Her eyes were still tracked on his hand, but she could his gaze burning her skin.

“I’ve seen your hands a few times before, but they weren’t at this stage. When it happened?” 

A beat passed. Silence filled the room so deeply that she could almost breath the change in the air. As time went on, the idea of demanding an answer came to mind, forceful and aggressive. It faded as quickly as it flared. She knew Hubert too well to think he would bend easily under pressure. Regardless, she had just moved on to his ring finger once he finally decided to answer them.

“As we both know too well, dark magic has a tendency of being rather destructive. Despite my position as the caster, it doesn't discriminate between my hands and the enemy. During the last year of war, since the efforts of the Black Eagle Strike Force were intensified…"

He didn't need to complete his phrase. With a sigh, Edelgard rubbed the lonely patch of soft skin he had left on his finger, right behind the second knuckle. She knew she should say something. Still, the words from years ago still rang true. Hubert did what he did willingly, because he wished to do it. Of course, it didn't make the guilt inside her heart any lighter.

"I see," she murmured, but the words rang hollow. Her throat felt parched and even the weight of Fódlan on her shoulders suddenly seemed heavier. There was nothing left to be said, that was the most unfortunate part. He wasn't hiding anything, so there was nothing she could say to accuse him. Scars of war, but a war waged for her and for her alone. It felt unfair to not share the burden, but he was always less than willing to let her brace it with him.

Hubert, at least, spared her any more guilt by staying silent. Edelgard moved to his pinky finger, pulling, stroking, pressing. She knew that he knew she was dragging out the moment. At the same time, she didn't care. It was the least she could do.

Even then, at some point, it still felt like too much and she let go of his hand, pulling back and straightening her posture instinctively as her eyes found his. Part of her expected to see her retainer still tense, perhaps merely amusing her. What she didn't expect to see was his cheeks flushed in a pale shade of pink, so out of place compared to his gaunt appearance and sharp cheekbones. Still, it didn't look half-bad, actually–

His back tensed, his hands pulled back, his entire body recoiled and thrummed as his eyes darted to the door. His head barely moved even with the sudden motion, indicating discretion. So be it. She followed along, keeping her posture as regal as possible. It took a few seconds until a pair of knocks echoed and the door opened, revealing a pair of servants.

They bowed, apparently unbothered by the pair sitting right face-to-face. Edelgard managed to catch just a glimpse of Hubert's exposed hand catching his cloak, hiding behind it.

"Your Majesty," one of the servants said, clearly trying to not look at the currently much more menacing Minister. She barely needed him to say anything else, waving a quick dismissal. Perhaps it was only then that the pair noticed the mess of a table. Alas, her focus wasn't on that.

No, her attention was on Hubert, his cunning eyes looking for an escape route, trying to leave as quickly as possible. A tinge of guilt resonated in her heart. Naturally. Their time was over.

Still, when he got up, his shoulders rising slightly with breath as he prepared to speak, to bow, Edelgard stopped him.

"This was an interesting moment of respite, Hubert," she muttered, drawing his attention back to her without alerting the hasty servants. "I hope we will be able to continue properly some other time."

His eyes gleamed with some unknown emotion as he fidgeted with his scarred, blackened hand under the cloak.

"Yes," he whispered back. "I hope so as well, Your Majesty. Regardless, if you will excuse me."

His retreat is swift, but she doesn't stop him. Nothing left to be done about ashen hands and leathery skin. Still, the feel of the oil on her fingertips was a constant reminder that she didn't manage to finish his other hand. 

Her mind wandered, her cheek resting on her hand, until something caught her eye. 

Oh.

So Hubert left his discarded glove near the table, the once pristine white now irrevocably stained with brown, smelling of cinnamon. Like a flash, thoughts of bloody gloves and dark magic smelling of brimstone crossed her mind. Sacrifices for her crimson path.

As quick as it appeared she pushed the thoughts away.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos/Comments/Feedback are always appreciated!!!


End file.
